


Experiment

by a_nonny_moose



Series: Egotober 2017 [2]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Doc wants to mess with Dark, and Wilford's in on it. Ft. Demon!Dark.





	Experiment

“Doc, I _really_  don’t care _why_  you have a bucket of blood.” Wilford wiggled his mustache, eyebrows raised. “But I want in.”  


Dr. Iplier sighed, setting down the bucket with a slight sloshing of the contents. Wilford watched as a trail of blood slid down the side, soaking into the carpet. 

Dr. Iplier folded his arms, giving in. “Well, I was thinking I’d perform an experiment.” He raised an eyebrow, catching Wilford’s eye. “Do you want to help?”

“Well,” Wilford huffed, the knife he was twirling disappearing with a ‘poof’ of pink smoke, his full attention on the Doctor, “I _am_  the resident expert on blood around here. What’re we talking?”  


“It involves Dark--”  


“Let’s do it.”  


* * *

“Okay, so,” Wilford called, leaning over the edge of the catwalk, “it says that the diameter of the pentagram has to be at least as tall as the demon you’re trying to trap.”  


Dr. Iplier looked up from the floor of the studio, a blood-covered paintbrush in one hand. “Dark is short,” he yelled back, marking out a space. “Is this enough?”

Wilford rolled his eyes. “We’re all the same height, Doc, just measure it!”

Grumbling, Dr. Iplier balanced his toes at the dot of blood he’d made, then stretched out as if he was doing a push-up. “Here?”

“Looks good,” Wilford said, not looking at all, trying to make sense of the instructions the Doctor had handed him.   


“Wilford?” Dr. Iplier puffed, standing. “Are you holding that upside down?”  


“N-no!” Wilford fumbled, dropping the paper. It fluttered down, and Dr. Iplier snatched it out of the air, frowning.   


“Give it ba-ack,” Wilford whined, sending a rain of glitter from the rafters.   


Dr. Iplier brushed it off his shoulders, muttering distractedly. After a moment, he looked up. “Tell me if these are even, okay?”

“If what?” But Dr. Iplier was already at work, drawing a wide circle on the bare studio floor. Pacing carefully, counting his steps, he marked five points around the circumference in blood.  


He looked up again, rust-red beginning to congeal on his hands. “Is that good?”

“Yeah,” Wilford replied, sour.  


Dr. Iplier began connecting the dots. “You could’ve helped read the instructions if you didn’t drop them,” he scolded, voice echoing around the empty studio. 

Wilford muttered, indistinct, and Dr. Iplier looked up, swiping hair out of his face. “What’d you say?”

“I can’t read, Doc!” It came violently, bouncing off the walls, and the Doctor heard Wilford huffing in annoyance. “At least, not very well,” Wilford growled.   


Dr. Iplier would’ve felt his heart soften if he hadn’t been covered to the elbows in blood. “It’s never too late to learn, Will,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

More muttering from overhead, and the Doctor decided not to push it. He connected the last of the dots and stepped back, trying to see it. “How’d that look?”

A rustle, and Wilford peered from overhead. “Is that a star?”

Dr. Iplier chuckled, looking over at the now blood-covered diagram. “It’s a pentagram. Come down here, help me with this next part.”

“’Come pull pranks on Dark,’ he said,” Wilford mocked, getting to his feet. “’It’ll be fun,’ he said.” With a light flash of pink light and the smell of burning sugar, Wilford peered over the Doctor’s shoulder at the instructions.   


“We need to draw these,” Dr. Iplier pointed, following the squiggles with his finger. “One in each little segment.” He knelt down, tracing the first one, brow furrowed. The brush was covered in blood, starting to harden, and Dr. Iplier scraped it off in annoyance. 

“Can I try?” Wilford said, making grabby hands at the brush. 

Dr. Iplier sighed, handing it to him, and pointed to the next symbol. “That one, then.”  


Wilford took a knee, rolling his sleeves up, and set the brush down. Ignoring Dr. Iplier’s disgusted groan, he dipped his hands up to the wrist in the now half-empty bucket of blood. With a second glance at the diagram, he started to draw, humming with his tongue between his teeth. 

Dr. Iplier looked over him, finger painting in blood on the concrete floor. “That’s not bad at all, Wilford.”

“What did I tell you?” Wilford winked, getting another handful of blood. “I’m the blood _expert_  around here.”  


Dr. Iplier sat back to watch him, oddly at peace. Wilford was engaged, for once, his full attention on the pentagram before him. It was, if he dared to jinx it, nice. 

Wilford finished the rest of the symbols without even looking up, sleeves falling into the bucket. Dr. Iplier walked over as he finished, blood dripping from his arms a little. “Good job,” he murmured, despite himself. The symbols were almost exact, perfectly centered. 

Wilford hid his pride behind crossed arms and a hand to tamp down his mustache. “I can draw, not write,” he said gruffly.

Dr. Iplier grinned, putting a hand on Wilford’s shoulder. “Y’know what you just drew?” he said, nudging him. 

“What?” Wilford clapped his hands, and except for the spray of droplets that got all over the Doctor’s scrubs, the blood was gone from his arms.  


“Those are letters,” Dr. Iplier scowled, unsuccessfully brushing blood from his face. “Letters that make up _words,_  Will.”

Wilford didn’t bother hiding his smile behind his mustache this time, looking from the symbols-- letters-- to his hands. “Cool,” he finally managed, ignoring the almost smug look on the Doctor’s face. “Cool.”

A clatter from the doorway interrupted the moment, and both of them whirled to face the newcomer.

Bim hurried in, a pen behind his ear, reading though a script roughly the same width of his head. “Wilford,” he started, not looking up, making a beeline for him, “I really think we should rework the subtext here, it’s just-- hey, what gives?”

Bim had stopped short, as if he’d run into a wall. The papers went flying, and Bim stomped his foot. “Oh, great, just great!” He threw up his arms, turning on his heel, and started to stalk out of the room. 

Another invisible wall stopped him, and Bim rubbed his head in confusion. “What is this? Wilford?”

Both Dr. Iplier and Wilford were too busy laughing to respond, and Bim had the presence of mind to look first up, then down. “Really?!”

Wilford was on the floor, positively howling, as Dr. Iplier tried to explain. “It was an experiment, we were going to catch Dark, but I suppose it works on incubi as well--”

Bim stomped his foot again, and his aura began to pool around him-- but even the angry purple waves couldn’t break the circle or even wash away the lines of blood on the floor. “Doc, where did you guys even get this much blood?”

Wilford caught his breath enough to shake his head, chuckling, and Bim laughed despite it all. ”You know what? I don’t want to know.” He crossed his arms, tapping his foot, still trapped in the center of the pentagram. “Okay, very funny,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Now let me out.”

“What,” Wilford wheezed, “you can’t get out yourself?”  


“It’s a Devil’s _Trap_ , Wilford,” Dr. Iplier said, pointing. “Consider this devil trapped.”  


“I can’t stay here all day,” Bim said, a note of desperation entering his voice. “C’mon, guys, let me out!”  


Dr. Iplier sighed, grabbing a cleaning sponge, but Wilford stopped him. “Wait,” he said, a glint in his eyes. 

“No, no, no,” Bim said, eyes widening. “Let me out before you do whatever it is you’re going to do.”  


After a second of whispering, Dr. Iplier’s eyes lit up, too, and Bim groaned. 

“We’ll let you out,” the Doctor said, smiling, “ _if_  you help us first.”  


Bim rolled his eyes, feeling the futility of protesting, feeling Wilford’s eyes on him. “Fine.”

* * *

“Dark, Dark!” Dr. Iplier burst into his room, head mirror askew.   


Dark turned, a scowl in place, but it dropped when he saw the distress on the Doctor’s face. “Is something the matter?”

Dr. Iplier gasped for breath, doubling over. “It’s... Wilford.”

* * *

Dark appeared in the studio in a swirl of black smoke, seething. The studio was pitch-black, the only light a flickering bulb in the rafters. 

“Wilford,” Dark bit out, his own aura darker than the shadows of the studio, swirling. “Show yourself.”  


A high, maniacal giggle, and lights began to flash all around him. Dark whirled, snarling, to see afterimages of Wilford popping up on all sides. 

“Catch me if you can, Darkipoo,” Wilford’s voice echoed around the room, grossly magnified.   


Dark wasn’t scared. He was the scariest damn thing in this room, and some two-bit trickster of a figment wasn’t going to scare _him._

With a growl, Dark flung his dagger at the nearest version of Wilford. It giggled, wiggling its fingers at him, and disappeared into darkness. 

“Come out,” Dark said, his own voice reverberating. “I won’t let you do this again, Warfstache.”  


A bulb flickered, and suddenly, there was a pool of light in front of him. In the center-- 

“Trimmer.” Dark stepped forward, into the circle. Bim lay still and pale, blood staining his clothes, as if a bucket of the stuff had been dumped carelessly over him. Dark looked down, an expression of distaste twisting his mouth. 

From the shadows, a giggle. 

Dark turned towards it, listening intently. Wilford was _right there_ , if he could only get his hands on him--

He stopped short, like running into a wall, and the lights flicked back on with a howl of laughter. 

“Wh-- what?” Dark stepped back, confused, as Dr. Iplier and Wilford hung on each other, laughing, and almost jumped as Bim sat up with a grin on his face.   


“Sorry,” Dr. Iplier managed, wheezing. “But to be fair, the look on your face is incredible.”  


Dark snarled, snapping his fingers to dissipate back to his room. A second, and a look of confusion flittered across his face. 

Wilford and Dr. Iplier laughed, if anything, even harder. 

Bim got to his feet, the front of his shirt dripping blood. chuckling in sympathy. Carefully, he pointed out the pentagram on the floor. 

Dark came closer to blushing then he ever had in his life. “Really?” he chided, regaining his composure. “Wilford, stop this.”

Wilford only shook his head, falling over himself. 

Dark looked at Bim, an eyebrow raised. _You too, huh?_

Bim shrugged, grinning. “Incubi are demons too, I guess.”

Dark rolled his eyes. “At least they’re not trying to excorise us,” he muttered, straightening his suit. 

“Futue te ipsum,” Dr. Iplier snorted, and Wilford laughed a little harder, wiping tears form his eyes.   


“You should experiment more often, Doc.”  



End file.
